


The Painted Elf

by nalathequeen2186



Series: Branded [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Cadrin Brosca, F/M, in which cadrin spares her future boyfriend's life because of tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5394674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nalathequeen2186/pseuds/nalathequeen2186
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cadrin Brosca escapes death and spares the life of the assassin that tried to kill her, for reasons she refuses to share.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Fellow Brand

In hindsight, perhaps Cadrin should have recognized the ambush immediately for what it was. It was a classic trick, one she’d seen too many times for her liking back in the Carta. Lure someone in by faking distress, then get what you want from them out of sight, whether that was money, valuables, or a quick assassination in the shadows.

But Cadrin was a new Grey Warden, however hollow that title rung after Ostagar - she had more money in her purse than she’d ever seen in her life, and there was a terrified woman in front of her, begging for help. “They attacked the wagon! Please help us!” she cried, turning and running back the way she came.

So Cadrin followed the woman along the path, rounding a corner as Leliana tugged on an elfroot to her left - good for treating any injured parties they might find. There was the destroyed caravan, as the woman had said - but the woman had slowed her pace, and came to a stop in front of another figure, cocking her head.

Something was definitely not right here.

Cadrin narrowed her eyes and reached up to wrap her fingers around the hilt of one of the daggers strapped to her back - not drawing it yet, just watching. The other person stepped forward, and even from this distance she could see it was an elf - male, clad in leather armor much like hers were it not for the fancy embroidery on the front, and two wicked-looking daggers at his back. She had him pegged as _assassin_ immediately.

It wasn’t as though Cadrin had never walked into a trap before. She always escaped alive. Her reflexes were quick, and when it came down to her morals or her life, she wasn’t above fighting dirty. But as she watched, the assassin grinned unnervingly at her, giving a single, small gesture with his hand. At the signal, several more well-armed men and women stood up from behind the carefully-placed destroyed caravan, and then several _more_ with bows and crossbows emerged from various bushes and other hiding places in flanking positions. She didn’t like those odds.

She was about to mutter to her companions to back up, funnel the assassins into a choke point and fight on their own terms, when a sudden creaking noise registered from above and to her left. She barely had time to look up and see the old, leafless tree tilting towards her and dived forward, hitting the dusty ground hard as the tree trunk crashed down mere inches from her, blocking the path back where they had come from.

_Well, shit._

As she struggled to her feet again, she heard the elf shout, “The Grey Warden dies here!” There was a twang from her right, and she looked up to find the woman who had lured them into the trap grasping at an arrow that had buried itself in her chest, looking shocked. The elf bared his teeth and drew his daggers.

“Good shot, Leliana,” Cadrin had time to say, and then the assassins were upon them.

One man rushed her immediately, but aimed just above her head - he was clearly not used to fighting dwarves. She dodged easily and twisted, slashing his throat. One down - but there were easily ten others, if not more. An arrow went whizzing by mere inches from her head, and Cadrin saw the archer who had loosed the arrow suddenly drop to their knees screaming in terror at a twirl of Morrigan’s staff. Another attacker quickly fell to Cadrin’s twin blades, and she spun, looking for her next target.

She never saw the blade, only screamed as she felt it slash across her left arm. Her dagger dropped from her hand as she grabbed instinctively at the wound, blood welling up between her fingers. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the elf, the one who had shouted - he was standing across from her, twirling his blade with her blood on it. His eyes gleamed in a challenge, a smirk dancing across his lips. Cadrin glared and bared her teeth at him; it couldn’t have been clearer that he was targeting her specifically.

Her dagger was lying on the ground between them. If she dived for it, she would certainly be dead before she reached it. She needed to get this elf off-balance.

Cadrin heard another twang and a whiz, and barely dodged another arrow coming from her right. The elf rushed forward, trying to take advantage of her momentary distraction, but she had her eye on him; she ducked and spun, hoping to bury a dagger in his back, but he had already straightened up and was swinging again. Cadrin managed to deflect the dagger, and twisted to avoid the other, and that was when she saw it.

_He has a brand._

The elf saw her moment of shock and hesitation and took his chance. He swept her feet out from under her with his own, and she was sent sprawling, her other dagger flying out of her hand. He was on her in an instant, trying to pin her arms under his knees, but she was fast, and only just managed to catch his wrist as his dagger flashed towards her exposed throat. He tried to force it closer, but fear and adrenaline lent her strength, and she began to push it back. The elf’s eyes widened, and he leaned forward, putting all his upper body weight into forcing the point of the dagger downward. All his fancy technique was gone, replaced by desperation.

But Cadrin was desperate too. With a loud grunt, she forced the dagger to the side and rolled with her whole body weight, pinning his wrists to the ground. She had expected a fight, but he toppled over without resistance, the dagger slipping from his grasp. She grabbed it and continued the roll until she was on top of him, pinning his arms just as he had tried to do to her, with the blade of the dagger pressed to his throat.

He didn’t fight.

He didn’t even struggle. He stared death in the face - stared _her_ in the face - expressionless, waiting. Cadrin willed herself to slash, to break skin and let his blood run and end it all. But her eyes flicked to the side of his face once again. The brand. _Not a brand_ , she reminded herself, _a tattoo_. But twenty-one years of conditioning, of abuse, of facial markings equaling brands couldn’t be erased by a few weeks free on the surface.

She pulled the dagger away, and before he had time to react, slammed the hilt into the side of his head. He went limp instantly.

Cadrin got to her feet, breathing hard, and looked around for any more attackers, but it seemed her companions had dispatched the other assassins easily enough, the last few left alive running for the hills. She figured their escape wasn’t a big problem; whoever had sent them would know Cadrin and Alistair weren’t dead soon enough regardless. A sudden throbbing pain in her left arm reminded her of her injury, and she looked down to see blood covering most of her arm.

“Cadrin!” Alistair called, jogging over to her as she stared at her arm. “Are you all… ohh.” He caught sight of the wound and paled. “Maker, that’s a lot of blood. Is the world spinning for anyone else…?”

“Move over, fool,” Morrigan said, brushing past a swaying Alistair to grab Cadrin’s arm. She hissed between her teeth as the action made the cut throb worse. Morrigan studied it for a moment, then added, “’Tis not as bad as it looks. A simple poultice will do.”

“Mm,” Cadrin said, already bored of being fussed over. Leliana was studying the bodies of the assassins, and Sten stood some distance away - big surprise there - wiping at his sword. Duster bounded over and whined at her. “Good boy,” Cadrin said, gritting her teeth as Morrigan applied the poultice and the wound began to sting.

“Don’t pass out,” she told Alistair, binding a strip of cloth from her pack over the mixture smeared onto her skin.

“Trying not to,” he said to the ground, still very pale.

She left the others to their own business, moving to study the assassin she had knocked unconscious. Out of the heat of battle, she could study him more clearly. The armor he wore was finely made, but worn from use. His skin was rather attractively dark - for Orzammar dwarves, skin color indicated nothing, but Cadrin had learned that for surface-dwellers, typically the further north you lived the darker your skin was. And his brand - up close, she could see it wasn’t actually a brand. It wasn’t an old scar burned into his skin at birth, as hers was. It was just an ordinary tattoo, three curving lines tracing a path down the side of his face. _It looks a lot nicer than mine_ , she thought.

“Wait,” Alistair said, seemingly recovered enough to squint down at the elf’s motionless form. “Is he…?”

“Still alive, yeah.” Cadrin grabbed his head and turned it to the side, looking for where she had struck him. There was a dark, painful-looking bruise forming there, but it didn’t look like anything a little healing magic from Morrigan couldn’t fix.

“He is quite a well-trained and -equipped assassin, no?” Leliana said. “Clearly, someone went to a great deal of trouble to hire this man.”

Cadrin nodded, remembering the slash of his blade across her arm. The wound throbbed again, as if in response to the memory. “He seemed like the leader of the group. And he went after me specifically.”

“Well, he _did_ say pretty clearly that he was trying to kill Grey Wardens.” Alistair waved his shield around a bit. “That’s us. Except….” He stared down at his shield, embossed with the Grey Warden coat of arms, the only part of his armor he had kept after hearing about the bounty on the Wardens. “If anything, I look more like a Grey Warden than you. Why didn’t he go after me?”

“Ooh, the poor boy is jealous!” Morrigan said mockingly, grinning when Alistair huffed in indignation.

“Am not!”

“Why were you not seen as the more important target of the two? Could it possibly be because you are simply not as intimidating? Or - ”

“Oi, you two,” Cadrin said before the situation could devolve into petty bickering. “In case you forgot, there’s an unconscious assassin just lying here. Don’t you think that might be a bit of an issue?”

 Leliana frowned thoughtfully. “We should interrogate this man. At least find out who sent him.”

“I’m pretty sure _Loghain_ sent him. You know, with the whole Grey Warden bounty and all.”

“Leliana’s right, though.” Alistair seemed to be trying very hard to ignore Morrigan, who was now simply standing and smirking at him with her arms crossed. “We could at least find out where Loghain is now, and if there are more assassins on their way.”

“Plus,” said Leliana, “I have a hunch about him. But I would prefer to hear it from his own lips.”

“All right,” Cadrin muttered. In truth, she was curious as well. She knew it was probably stupid, that no one on the surface cared as much about the meaning of facial tattoos as she did, but his fascinated her. She needed to know more about him, even if he woke up hating the lot of them. Which he probably would.

They took a few precautions before he woke up. Cadrin decided to have Sten hold his weapons - she doubted he would have the balls to jump someone as tall and intimidating as Sten to get them back. Then she bound his wrists in front of him with a length of rope from her pack. He started to stir as she tightened the final knot, and she stepped back just as his eyes fluttered open.


	2. Oaths of Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cadrin ponders the meaning of an oath of loyalty and Zevran is a little too interested in being tied up.

“I hereby swear my oath of loyalty to you, until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation - this I swear.”

In Dust Town, there were no oaths of loyalty. Everyone knew that at any moment the requirements for survival might change, and they might have to betray a friend. No one was bound to anyone. Promises were sometimes made - promises of love, or allegiance to a crime lord - but they were in no way binding. Rica had made a promise to her once, three years ago, when she was on her bed shaking and crying after a particularly bad encounter with a couple of guards. “I’ll get us out of here,” she said, holding Cadrin tightly. “I’ll find a way to make things better for us.”

Cadrin had made a promise too that night, though she hadn’t voiced it aloud. Her promise was to keep her sister safe. No matter what, she would never let anyone harm Rica. It was a promise as much to herself as to her sister, and since leaving Orzammar she still wondered if she had truly succeeded in keeping that promise.

But this elf… Zevran fascinated her. He had been beaten, lying at her feet, bound and at her mercy - she’d spared his life for reasons even she couldn’t quite explain - and his first instinct was apparently to bind himself to the very person he had tried to kill just minutes before. If it had been her, she would have tried to smooth talk her way out of it. He promised to be an interesting one, this Zevran.

Of course, the others were immediately suspicious of his intentions. Sten had, upon hearing her decision back on the path, suggested killing him now before he could betray them and murder them all in their sleep. Alistair hadn’t argued the point, but he shot disapproving glances Zevran’s way every now and then, always when he thought she couldn’t see him. Duster whined whenever Zevran got too close to Cadrin, though at least he wasn’t outright hostile. Only Leliana and Morrigan seem unruffled by Cadrin’s decision to let him come along, but even they were keeping an eye on him as he sat at the campfire that night.

Zevran, for his part, seemed completely untroubled by his reception. She had a feeling that he had fully expected such mistrust, and didn’t much care one way or the other. He had been sitting at the fire ever since they pitched camp, warming his feet and hands by the flames with his boots sitting next to him, and met every mistrustful gaze almost cheerily - Cadrin could swear that he was amused by her companions’ reactions. She had a feeling that he was not as unperturbed by this turn of events as he seemed, though - years of working for the Carta had made her very good at telling when someone was not letting everything on.

And frankly, she didn’t expect him to. It wasn’t as though she had told her companions everything. The others might have preferred he kept no secrets, but everyone had secrets. They didn’t know Cadrin used to be a thief and a murderer just like him.

She was so lost in her thoughts, sitting next to her tent and fiddling with the bandage on her arm, that she hadn’t realized she was staring at Zevran until he waved at her. “Warden!” he called, patting the ground next to him. “Join me. You look positively freezing in this harsh Fereldan weather.”

Cadrin rolled her eyes, but obliged, getting up and walking over to settle herself a good few feet away from him despite a _hmph_ of disapproval from Sten. “Why do you keep calling me ‘Warden’?” she asked as she pulled off her boots as well. “Alistair’s a Grey Warden too, it’s not just me.”

“Ah, but you are the leader of this merry band of adventurers, no? Then you are the one deserving of the title.” He grinned at her, perhaps in an attempt to charm her, though the action was somewhat diminished by the fact that he was currently running his thumb absently along the blade of the dagger he had used to slice her arm open earlier. Zevran must have noticed the way her eyes flicked down to it, or how she unconsciously rubbed at her bandage, because he set it down and said, “Actually, I wished to apologize.”

Cadrin raised one eyebrow. “Really.”

“I did try to kill you, after all.”

“That was kind of what you were paid to do, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed, but….” He frowned. “You do not hold it against me?”

“Oh no, I do,” she said, earning a laugh from Zevran. “I’m gonna have a new scar once this heals. That’s your fault.”

“Scars add character, you know,” he said. “You could present it as a badge of honor. ‘I took on one of the finest Antivan Crows in single combat, and lived,’ as it were.”

Cadrin snorted. “If _you’re_ one of the finest, I’d hate to see the state the other Crows must be in.”

“Such barbed insults from a lady!” He smiled slyly. “That sharp tongue of yours must get you into _all_ sorts of trouble, yes?”

Across the camp, Cadrin saw Alistair’s head whip around, looking scandalized.

“You know,” Cadrin said, waving cheerily at Alistair, who immediately blushed scarlet and turned back around, “most people wouldn’t flirt with someone they just tried to assassinate.”

“True,” Zevran said. Cadrin waited for a “but,” but he simply sat there grinning at her. She rolled her eyes again, but couldn’t help laughing.

“Just try that on Morrigan. I’d love to see how that goes down.”

“Mm, yes,” he said, looking over at where Morrigan sat with her tent, as usual, far apart from the others. “She does seem a bit prickly, doesn’t she?” He smiled when she happened to look over, and she immediately looked away again, muttering something that sounded like _fool assassin_ under her breath.

“Ah well,” Zevran said cheerfully, “I am sure we will all be the best of friends in no time!”

“You’re rather optimistic about that.”

“I am alive, am I not? That is more than I had expected from this encounter.”

“I guess.”

Zevran’s expression suddenly became more serious. “If I may ask, Warden - why _did_ you spare my life?”

Cadrin stared at the fire.

“I am an assassin,” he continued, noticing her hesitation. “I tried to kill you. I gave you a rather nasty wound, as you pointed out. You were on top of me, you had a knife at my throat - and yet you did not end my life. Why is that?”

 _How the sod am I supposed to answer that?_ She weighed her options. If she told him the truth, he would never believe her. Then again, maybe it was better that way.

“I liked your tattoo,” she said finally.

Zevran laughed delightedly. He didn’t seem at all bothered by her apparent dodging of his question - she had a feeling he held a rather similar view to hers on keeping secrets. “It is rather nice, no?” he said. “As is yours, if I may add.”

Cadrin stiffened. _He likes the brand?_ “Thanks,” she said flatly, trying to hide the well of uncertainty and self-loathing his comment brought to the surface.

He must have noticed her less-than-enthusiastic response, because he stretched. “Ah, well. It has been a long day for both of us, I imagine. Perhaps we should get some rest.”

“You’re lucky we had an extra tent with us,” Cadrin said, standing, “or you’d be sleeping on the cold grass outside.” The others noticed their movement, and Leliana wandered over.

“I suppose we need to think about the watches tonight, yes?” she said. “We have a new friend, after all.”

“Yes,” Alistair said, joining them and looking mistrustfully at Zevran. “We certainly do.”

“He is not to be trusted,” Sten said. “If your reckless decision to keep him alive still stands, Warden, I suggest that we bind him again and keep a constant watch on him through the night.”

Zevran grinned and stared up at Sten, who was nearly twice his height. “I cannot say I am opposed to the idea of being tied up all night, my handsome Qunari friend….”

Cadrin let out a snort of laughter before she could stop herself, and Leliana giggled.

“Perhaps you would prefer me shirtless, to make sure I am not hiding any weapons?”

“Oh, for….” Alistair shook his head as Sten growled irritably. “Look, maybe we don’t need to go _that_ far, but… he _did_ try to kill us.”

“I swore an oath of loyalty to your friend here, did I not?”

“You’re an assassin! Are we supposed to just take you at your word?”

“Look,” Cadrin said, “just take away his weapons and don’t have him on a night watch, if it bothers you so much. We’ll be fine.”

“Are you quite sure, Warden?” Zevran said, raising an eyebrow at her. “I am a dangerous and bloodthirsty assassin, after all. Perhaps it is best for the safety of everyone to leave me tied up, as the Qunari suggests.”

“Maybe later,” Cadrin said, amused. Across the camp, she could hear the sound of Morrigan laughing. “Just give me the daggers and get to your tent, for now.”

As Alistair shifted uncomfortably and Sten stalked off, Zevran handed her the two daggers that he had kept strapped to his back, then reached into his boot and pulled out a smaller knife. Then another one from his waistband, and another from his sleeve.

“Are all these really necessary?” Cadrin said wide-eyed, as he handed her the last knife from his other boot.

“One must be prepared, yes?” He winked at her. “Especially if one is on his way to assassinate a Grey Warden.”

“ _Try_ to assassinate,” Cadrin corrected him, watching his back as he walked to his tent and slid inside, closing the flaps behind him. Maybe it was her imagination, or maybe he really was deliberately swaying his hips far more than the situation warranted.

He was so suave and self-assured. She’d never met anyone with his particular brand of charm - and she had to admit she enjoyed it. Alistair stared at her as the corner of her mouth quirked up.

“Okay, _really?_ ” he half whispered. “What’s _up_ with him? And why are _you_ playing along?”

“He’s fun,” Cadrin said, shrugging.

“You don’t think he might, you know, be trying to gain your trust so he can kill us all in our sleep?”

Cadrin frowned. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t considered that. Alistair and Sten in particular seemed to think that was the case, and it made sense, after all - if he couldn’t kill them in a straight fight, why not take advantage of their vulnerability in sleep? She didn’t even know why she wasn’t more suspicious. Gut feeling, maybe. Something told her that his offer of help was genuine, at least.

“If anything,” she said finally, “he won’t be trying to kill us right away.”

“Oh, _that’s_ comforting,” Alistair grumbled. “Oh ho, the assassin is our new friend! And then the day we let him sleep with his knives is the day we all wake up with our throats slit.”

“If it really bothers you so much, he was certainly enthusiastic about the prospect of being tied up. Feel free to help him out with that.”

Alistair groaned. “And that’s the other thing. All the… the flirting. He winked at me, you know? When he was changing out of his armor.”

“How offensive.” At Alistair’s glare, she added, “Look, I’ve had a lot worse. Most of the men who took an interest in me in the past wanted to get in my pants within the first day. At least he’s polite enough to stick to flirting for now.”

“Oh, Maker. Please don’t tell me you’re considering… that. Him.”

“Would you feel safer if I had sex with him while he was tied up?”

Alistair waved his hands in defeat. “Fine! Sleep with the assassin, see if I care! If he murders you with a knife he pulled out of his arse, don’t come crying to me!”

Cadrin couldn’t help snickering as he walked away back to his own tent. She made a mental note to be nicer to him later; he was clearly on edge after Zevran’s attack, and perhaps it was unfair to tease him so much. Morrigan would be pleased, at least.

She climbed into her own tent and looked at the outline of Sten, who had first watch, silhouetted by the campfire. She hadn’t realized how exhausted she was until she lay down, her bedroll suddenly feeling like the most comfortable thing in the world. Her last thought before she drifted off was the image of Zevran back on the road, staring up at her with the tattoo framing his face, and she smiled.


End file.
